


The Pleasure House

by Sanguine_Saturnine



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Incest, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Royalty, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Bonding, lack of bodily autonomy, porn trash pile that developed a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguine_Saturnine/pseuds/Sanguine_Saturnine
Summary: An annual event has arrived in the City of Tears, where the royal family and members of the court fill the Pleasure House for a weekend of drugs, sex, alcohol, and social bonding.Most members also participate in an event colloquially referred to as pairing: a House Special potion is offered to the person one intends to have sex with, providing the lucky pair (or group) with a deeply shared bonding experience.With a hookah filled atmosphere and an anything goes policy, can the White Lady keep track of and reign in the sexual desires of both Hornet and the Hollow Knight? She certainly tries (and fails. many. many times.).-----This fic will have many characters and other additional tags. I will update the tags as I upload a new chapter to keep them relevant.





	The Pleasure House

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written for a long time then suddenly had inspiration and bashed out the outline for this trash pile so... enjoy.
> 
> I'm not 100% happy on some of the language and it is made more anthro a bit for the purposes of making writing the sex scenes a little easier but yeah. I'm pretty proud of this?
> 
> (side thing: I only capitalise the 'lord' in 'my lord' when Hollow Knight is addressing the Pale King but not when HK is being addressed. I did this intentionally. It's meant to have more meaning behind how it's spoken between capitalisation and not.... if that makes any sense. It probably just looks really inconsistent tbh but oh well.)
> 
> Also I will be referring to Hollow Knight and the Knight (Little Ghost) in this fic with masc pronouns but they're both more gender neutral. For HK it's a thing with the White Lady and may or may not be addressed in the text.

“The Queen requests your attendance in her chambers,” the guard, though stoic in both his stature and intonation, fixes me with what I can only describe as vague disapproval in his eye.

I deliver him a nod, curtly. It doesn't shift him from his position just inside my doorway.

“Immediately,” I say just as he opens his mouth to speak the word.

Irritation clearly bristles through him. He adjusts his stance as he says, “I am to escort you.” It does not escape either of our notice that he makes the extra effort to leave off the  _ my lord _ . If the audible click with which he shut his mouth is anything to go by, at least I can take amusement in that.

I tilt my head and make sure to run the whetstone the length of my nail’s blade as slowly as possible one last time. It makes a satisfying sound and I replace the stone on the table as I stand, reaching for the sheath.

The guard twitches out of the corner of my eye and I stop my movement, turning my head slightly in his direction.

He makes a noise before speaking. “You won't be needing that.”

Taking the sheath in my hand, I twirl it slightly as I straighten and slide my nail into it. I slip the strap over my head so the hilt rests at my left shoulder, grabbing my cloak on my way to the door.

I watch as his hand tightens on his nail, though the guard says nothing further. A smirk inches its way to the corner of my mouth once he's turned and I follow him through the halls.

~

An exasperated sigh greets me when her doors open.

“You don't need to be armed, dear,” my mother eyes my nail as I enter.

Behind me the guard closes the doors and immediately handmaidens are pulling at my cloak. I hold my arms out slightly as the clasp is released and I am swiftly relieved of the item. Before I can protest they also disarm me, taking my nail and cloak to the far side of the room.

“Mother,” I greet her and she pulls me into a quick, awkward hug, herding me further into the rooms.

My eye catches sight of the elegant set of pure white dress robes on a wire stand. Next to it is a smaller more gown shaped set. Both are adorned with elaborate platinum threading and have matching cloaks. Resting on a cushion off to the side I notice two thin platinum bands, each decorated with tiny flecks of pale ore, and a number of small pins and charms.

Hands push me past them and toward a small yet still alarming group of handmaids, all dressed in very little more than a thin veil that I can definitely see through.

“Urh,” is all I can manage as I am rather unceremoniously propelled toward them.

“Your sister still hasn't arrived and I do not have time for this tonight.”

“I'm sure we have plenty of time, Mother,” I try not to resist when my robes are undone and keep my focus on the conversation.

Air is sucked between her teeth. “I was just really hoping she'd be here by now. I have no idea how long getting her ready will take, and I'm really not looking for a fight to get her in this.” Her fingers gently run through the material of the dress robes.

“Deepnest is pretty far--”

“We had a tram built! She can come right home whenever she likes! I don't--”

“Mother!” I flinch even as the growl enters my voice.

Her hand comes down on my chest. I watch her face while she smooths her hand over the material that hasn't been peeled off me yet.

At length she speaks again. “Herrah--”

“Don't. Please don’t do this,” I say as gently as I can, though I fight to keep the pleading out of my tone. I take her hand slowly in mine as she roughly exhales, removing it from my chest and slowly pulling her into a hug.

As her arms wrap around me and a soft noise puffs from her chest I mentally put away the feint tearing sensation in the back of my mind. I cover it up and just breathe. Hoping the weight that settled in my chest was just from her touch.

Slowly, she pulls away. Her hand lifts up to rest on the top of my shell. I let my head tilt slightly under the weight of her rubbing, though I hold myself back from leaning too far into the affection.  _ This has to end, so don't,  _ floats through my mind. The feeling in my chest deepens for a moment and then she's back running her hands over the dress robes and the rest of mine are pulled from me.

I'm steered behind a dividing wall by the handmaids where buckets of hot soapy water and sponges are waiting for me.

I try to ignore them and what they aren't wearing as best I can, especially to ignore the still lingering question of why. They scrub and prod at me, working away the grime I didn't even know was there in my void and my shell.

“Ugh,” the sound is pushed from me before I tense to stop any more of it, the maid brushing her lips over the underside of my jaw.

It was enough to get my mother’s attention, though.

“Stop fighting it, dear,” she calls out. I really feel that her sing-song voice was intentional.

“No, I really don't-- nngh,” an involuntary shiver runs through me. A hand sliding up the inside of my thigh. A mouth at my hip, my neck, my shoulder. Kissing. Sucking. A nip here and there. There are enough of them to support my weight and they take full advantage of that.

Soft chuckles echo around me. Murmurs among one another. I tense and try to move and hands tighten, pressing and running over me.

“Shhh,” one of them coos against my thigh.

“This is a gift, my lord,” another whispers, her lips ghosting over my neck. I make a soft exhale sound and feel her smile.

“You're so soft.” Fingers run over my abdomen.

“And cool to the touch.” A mouth presses into my left hip just above where it meets my groin.

They chuckle collectively when an involuntary moan breaks from my throat.

“You can do better than that, my lord,” her lips brush over my shell, a hand pulling my horn to turn my head enough for our mouths to meet.

The others roam more adventurously over my body as she slowly works my mouth open, moving from gentle kisses to sliding her tongue over mine. I shiver and her hand finds my forearm, pushing it behind my back as she steps closer, kissing me deeper while the others stroke their fingers and mouths over me.

“Now,” she purrs into my mouth in a deeper, more commanding tone,  _ “behave.” _

~

Once they have me dressed I find myself standing before a full length mirror, my mother running her hands all over me as she fusses, smoothing down any creases she finds and attaching pins as she sees fit.

I watch her in our reflection, idly stroking my fingertips along the threading.

“Leave it,” she slaps my hand away, turning to collect the platinum band.

I follow it in her hands with my gaze. She glances from it to me and then carefully goes about setting it across the top of my shell. The crown was designed to fit snugly around my horns, dipping down slightly at the front on either side where it meets them. As I watch her hands adjust it in the mirror I can't help but wonder when exactly she measured me.

I reach to touch it and she slaps my hand away again.

“There,” stepping back, she admires her handiwork. Her fingers flutter over me periodically, palms rubbing over my chest and arms. “Just don't touch any of it.

Now, if only your sister were here…” she trails off in her thoughts and turns to the other dress robes, fingering the platinum ribbon of the cloak.

I catch myself staring at my reflection. I try to remember to breathe, locking my body up more as the dizziness sets in. This is so surreal. My eyes trace the line of the crown on my shell, across the smooth material folded over my chest, the band wrapped around my waist. My gaze locks with my own for an uncomfortable moment before I fix it instead back on the crown.

I give in to the overwhelming urge to touch it, the metal and pale ore set into it slightly cool even to my void fingers. I pause at that for a moment. I don't remember when I started feeling warmer than objects around me. Even other voidkin are noticeably cooler to the touch than I am.

I let my hand fall. Being warmer is a side effect of the priming process, I know that. Still. Noticing it, especially like this, is certainly jarring.

My vision blurs slightly. I'm suddenly all too aware of how unreal my life is.

_ You only have to perform for a few more years, _ the voice in my head whispers. I sigh.

My mother looks up at me from where she's running her fingers over Hornet’s crown. Her finger taps while she looks at me for a few moments before she places it down carefully and comes to stand beside me.

“You know,” she says softly, trying to make eye contact with me in the mirror, “this really is yours. It is your birthright.” Her hand smooths over my chest as her other arm snakes around my waist, pulling me to her side. She presses a kiss to the cheek of my shell and then to my shoulder. “You do get to have this. Even though in a few years, once you're ready, you'll be taking on the burden of protecting the Kingdom-- no.” She shakes her head, tilting my chin to force me to look at her.  _ “Because _ of that, and even more. You deserve this. You get to have this. Okay?” Her hands come down on my shoulders as she turns me to face her.

“The sacrifice you’re making for  _ your _ Kingdom is how you're serving  _ your _ people, Hollow Knight. Do you understand that?” A finger gently strokes down my cheek.

_ Is that true?  _ I think, searching her face.  _ I believe you believe that. But I don't… have anything.  _ Images flash through my mind, too quick for me to process though I know who's faces I saw. The one's I always see.

“It's for them,” I murmur, more to myself than her as I turn back to the mirror. “But I don't…”

“You deserve it, baby,” her hand rests on the top of my shell again and I exhale, my head dropping forward this time and pushing into the contact.

_One day this won't happen anymore. Stop it._ _One day nobody is ever going to touch you again._

“Besides,” she straightens my crown as she pulls away, “sacrifice or not, you're still royalty. You don't have to earn it.”

With a pat on my chest she turns back to inspect the dress robes she has laid out for Hornet.

I watch her as a black coldness creeps back into my body. The weight of what she just said echoes in my mind.  _ Liar. _

A voice, distant and from far away, reaches me. It's words come weakly spoken yet they carry through space and time all the same.

_ Stop hurting Us. _

A heavy knock at the door pulls both of us from our respective reveries. It opens and a blue head pokes itself in.

“Forgive me, your Highness. The Pale King sends me to collect the Prince, should he be ready.”

“Yes, of course,” the White Lady waves the guard in and drapes my heavy dress cloak over his arm. 

Rubbing circles into my back affectionately, the White Lady gives me one last hug, “Now remember, for this event you're a Prince, not a Knight. No nail. No combat. Just go and pair with people and have fun. I'll see you there.”

With a final once over of me she nods and sends us on our way.

~

I follow the guard to the hall where a small group await.

There's Lurien, dressed in deep red sweeping robes that meet the floor and are decorated with red and platinum threading. As he moves small studded gems that line the fabric glimmer in the light.

With him is my father. His dress robes match mine in colour and pattern, though his crown is much larger and its decorative adornments more prominent.

They are escorted by two other court members, also dressed similarly to though not as elaborately as Lurien, and five guards, who's usual blue military uniforms are replaced by a deeper blue fabric with blue and platinum threading.

“My Lord,” I move my left arm behind my back and bow to my father.

The Pale King approaches me and rests his hand in the middle of my shell between my horns. A jolt of heat passes through me at his touch. My eyes slide shut, head lowering, the energy from our contact seeping into the very depths of my being.

“My son. You look amazing. I would hug you, though I fear your mother would sooner eat me were I to so much as bump a pin out of place.” His thumb rubs my shell for a moment before he pulls back and I straighten.

The guard slips my cloak over my shoulders as my father claps his hands and looks around the room. “Shall we?”

“Yes, your Highness,” fills the room in chorus.

I fall into step beside the Watcher as we make our way through the Palace toward the Stag Station.


End file.
